Unforgettable
by Maeve Morgan
Summary: Post War. As she attended to one last patient on her shift at St. Mungo’s, Hermione thought about her life and her husband and the choices they’d made. And how much things could have been different.


**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The use of its characters, locations, and universe in general are merely a lend. Research made in The Harry Potter Lexicon website provided me with important bits of info as well.

A.N.: I was inspired after watching an episode of the first season of ER; I don't remember exactly which one right now. The idea came to mind, and here it is.

* * *

**Unforgettable **

It was ten past seven in the evening, and after nearly an hour of filling up patients' charts, Healer Hermione Granger was ready to go home. Her colleagues often said she could finish much earlier if she'd use a magical quill to take such notes even as she attended to her patients, but in truth she liked the extra work. She liked to think that this way she got to know her patients better.

Of course, for as much as she loved St. Mungo's and her job, everything had limits. She had been up since six in the morning pulling one of her weekly rounds in the Emergency area of the hospital. After treating dozens of people with various magical afflictions, she was more than ready to return to the comfort of her home.

That is why that as she left the Healer's lounge room and passing the reception area on her way out saw one of the Trainee Healers looking superbly lost, she knew she had to hurry, otherwise she'd surely be stuck with another case.

"Frances, who is on tonight?" The young Trainee questioned, holding a patient's chart loosely in her hand. The other she used to nervously run through her auburn hair in a characteristic gesture.

Frances Oliver, the receptionist for the night shift on the Emergency Admissions room looked up from the book she was reading. "Let me see," she said, checking a board behind her back. "Carrington, Carmichael, and Granger."

"I'm sorry girls, I'm on my way out," Hermione said, passing them with her cloak and bag in hands. "My shift ended over an hour ago."

"Oh." Diane Malone murmured. She glanced at the chart and back at the receptionist. "Is there anyone available?"

"I don't think so. Chief Carrington is with an emergency spell-damage case in the fourth floor and she might be long," Frances replied, again checking the magical board.

Despite herself, Hermione stopped on her track and looked over her shoulder at both the girl and the receptionist. "Where is your supervisor, by the way?" She questioned with a frown, turning back to the Trainee Healer.

"I'm not sure, Healer Granger," Diane said, huffing an exasperated sigh. "Healer Pritchard was supposed to be here at seven, but apparently he hasn't checked in yet."

"Can't you take care of the case on your own?" Hermione questioned in turn.

The girl shook her head. "I just barely started my second year at Healing School, and this is my first as a Trainee. I'm not allowed to do that," she explained.

"I thought Slytherins weren't so concerned with rules," the older woman smiled rather ruefully.

"Neither are Gryffindors, for what I know," the girl smirked back. "But I'd rather not ruin my career so soon and get us sued for negligence."

"Of course," Hermione said, smiling back at her. Just then, she noticed a colleague hurrying from the lounge towards the corridor to their left. "Eddie!" She called after him. "Can't you take this case? I have to go home and make dinner."

"Sorry Hermione," Healer Carmichael called back over his shoulder as he rounded the corner. "Quite an urgent case here, a CEI."

"CEI?" Diane questioned her, frowning deeply.

"Cauldron Explosion Injury," Hermione said absentmindedly, as she watched him hurry out of sight. "You'll pick up the jargons in no time, don't worry."

"Okay," Trainee Healer Malone nodded, turning back to face her. "Please, can't you take this case? It won't take long. Fifteen minutes tops. You'll be on your way sooner than you think."

"Just take it," Frances said from behind her counter when Hermione opened her mouth to object. "Until Pritchard gets here, we can't leave the girl with no supervisor. And your darling husband won't mind if you take some minutes more, I'm sure."

"Want to bet?" She replied dryly, raising an eyebrow. Sighing in defeat, she turned back to the Trainee Healer in distress, internally cursing Graham Pritchard and his lack of punctuality. "All right. What do you have?" She said, turning towards the stairs even as she took her wand out and sent her bag and cloak back to the lounge.

Diane smiled as though very pleased with herself as she presented the chart. "Eighty-four years-old witch, she checked in with symptoms of potion poisoning, though a first exam couldn't exact which one. An antidote potion to retard most poison effects has been administered. I've taken a sample of blood to make an analysis, but the lab is taking quite long with a reply."

"The lab is always busy," Hermione said, scanning her eyes over the chart and rapidly taking in the details depicted there. "Have you tried asking what potions she has ingested today?"

Diane nearly stopped in her tracks as she blinked in surprise. "No, I haven't," she replied as she recovered and continued making her way up the stairs. "I assumed she wouldn't know if she'd been poisoned."

"Never assume," Hermione replied, smiling rather grimly. Presently, they reached a room in the third floor and she could contemplate her latest patient. She was an elderly lady, with white hair that fell over her shoulders in small curls that escaped the bun in her head. She wore exquisite robes of some French brand, and held herself high, in a posture that exuded confidence. From the few types of jewellery adorning her figure, Hermione could see she was part of one of the ancient pureblood families. Which one exactly, she couldn't tell.

"Good evening, Mrs. Yaxley," she said as she strode into the room. "I'm Healer Granger, and I'm sure you remember Trainee Healer Malone. The lab seems to be delayed with the analysis, and meanwhile we'll try to find what exactly is afflicting you."

"Oh please, don't worry so much," the lady said in a clear, crystalline voice. "I'm sure it is nothing serious."

"Really?" Hermione said, slightly taken aback.

"Yes, I'm quite sure," she continued. "Pinky, my house-elf, brought me here because she felt something wasn't right with me. I told her I was fine, but she went and dragged me here anyway."

"Well, that was very thoughtful of your house-elf," Hermione smiled rather indulgently. "But since you are already here, we could try and see what is occurring exactly. A first exam pointed to potion poisoning. This could be a serious matter, and should be attended to immediately."

"Poison?" Her voice held a particular inflection that Hermione couldn't quite place.

"Have you taken any potions today or tasted anything unusual in any of your meals?" Hermione questioned, leaning back against a stool next to the bed. Diane was half a step behind her, ready to take notes.

"Well, I don't think so," the elderly lady replied slowly. "My house-elves cook all meals at any rate, they would know better than to put poison in my food. I have taken my usual potions. I take one for arthritis and another for my heart. And of course, the one this young girl gave me when I got here."

"And that is all?" The bushy-haired witch asked, as she now moved her wand over the patient's lying figure in sweeping arches.

"Yes, I think that was all," Mrs. Yaxley replied quietly, following the Healer's motions with her pale blue eyes in curiosity.

"Hmm." Hermione's wand emitted a soft blue glow as she finished the scan. Crossing the room, she reached for a blank piece of parchment stationed conveniently over a table. As she touched the tip of her wand to it, words formed and spilled out over the parchment. "Yes, I see it here. Two formulas, the antidote… and something foreign. Diane, please hurry to the lab and ask for the results of the exam? We need those quickly," she said, looking up at the Trainee Healer.

"Yes, ma'am," the girl replied and promptly left the room.

Somehow, the departure of the Trainee Healer seemed to change the atmosphere of the room, if ever so slightly. Hermione walked back to the stool beside the bed and sat down. She noticed her patient averted her gaze.

"Mrs. Yaxley," she said softly. "The scan I took is an advanced one, and it registered various foreign ingredients to the other formulas you ingested today. I detected traces of valerian roots, sopophorous beans and asphodel, along with a very rare combination of Jobberknoll feathers, hellebore, and what seems to be parts of unicorn horn and hair. More troubling so was the quantity of aconite detected."

"I thought you needed the report from the lab to know that." The elderly lady said, raising her eyes to her Healer in mild amusement.

"The report will only confirm what I already suspect," she said steadily.

"And what shall it be?" Mrs. Yaxley replied, cocking her head slightly to one side and regarding the young woman before her.

"You were poisoned." Hermione said calmly. "You ingested a poison made primarily of aconite. Its effects are usually instantaneous, however something seems to have retarded it for a few hours. And I can guess that the Draught of the Living Death was also administered. This one normally takes two to three hours to take effect."

"Indeed." It was all her patient replied.

"Were you trying to kill yourself, Mrs. Yaxley?" Hermione questioned after a few moments in the same calm voice. Inwardly, she was very surprised with the possible diagnose. In the magical world, it was rare to encounter elderly suicides. They seldom occurred at all. No wonder Diane hadn't thought of asking if she'd ingested the poison willingly.

Her patient didn't answer her question, but the pale blue eyes dropped to her lap once more. The old lady seemed to heave a very small sigh as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows in the bed.

"I wasn't meant to come here," she said at last, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Well, either you are not very sure about it, or you have an extremely and quite unnaturally determined house-elf, Mrs. Yaxley." Hermione said with a gentle smile.

"Pinky is quite ordinary, I assure you," she replied with a small chuckle. "The thing about house-elves is that if they get attached to you, they'll do whatever is best for you. Even if you don't want them to, sometimes they'll go against your expressed wishes and orders."

Hermione resisted the urge to start a torrent about house-elves rights right then and there. She knew that for a witch raised in a traditionally pureblood family Mrs. Yaxley seemed quite understanding regarding the enslaved creatures. And right now she was more concerned about her patient.

"Were you trying to kill yourself?" She repeated the question in hopes that she'd receive a clear and irrefutable answer this time.

"Yes, I took a mixture of aconite," Mrs. Yaxley replied with a heavy sigh. "Beforehand, I had ingested a special and quite rare infusion that would retard its effects for a few hours. And then I took the Draught of the Living Death." She finally looked up at the Healer. "I figured that I wouldn't suffer as much if I'd been deeply asleep."

Hermione nodded silently as she heard this confession of sorts. "And whatever changed your mind?" She asked softly. "I know first-hand how house-elves can be stubborn. But for most of them it would be extremely painful to go against expressed wishes of their… masters." She shuddered inwardly at uttering the very word. "And yet, here you are. Unaccompanied and seemingly of your own volition."

"You are very sharp, Healer Granger," Mrs. Yaxley graced her with an unexpected smile. "I've heard word from friends about this smartest witch of her age and of her brilliance. I'm pleased to say I'm not disappointed."

Hermione was utterly baffled before this. She had never expected to be complimented on her intelligence for simply concluding the obvious, neither in a situation like this. She blinked a few times in surprise, and smiled rather uncertainly in return.

"Would you like to talk about it?" She said depositing the chart she had in hands on top of the bedside cabinet.

"Well, you can hardly blame the rumours and the fame you've acquired," the white-haired witch said with a smirk.

"Mrs. Yaxley," Hermione said rather pointedly, in a slightly tired manner.

"I'm sorry dear, I couldn't resist it. Nigel, my late husband, always said I had a terrible sense of humour," she said. Instantly, all traces of her early smile disappeared from her face. "I guess… I was saddened from some news I received about a month ago. Since then I've been rather depressed, and thinking too much on the choices I made in life."

"Yes. Go on," the Healer urged her on, with a small gesture of her hand.

"I feel rather foolish talking about it," Mrs. Yaxley said hesitantly. "I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to some old witch's lament. You should go home to your family, dear."

Hermione firmly shook her head. "I'm not leaving until I treat my last patient," she said. "I still have to wait for the results of the exam to sign your chart. We would make better use of the time we're waiting for it if I could try to help you. I need to know your reasons if I'm to do so."

Her patient seemed to contemplate this for a moment. Sighing deeply, she turned her eyes back to Hermione. "Well, if you truly would like to understand this all, you would need to know the story of my life." At the Healer's muted assent, she continued. "All right. Well, much like your generation, I lived part of my Hogwarts years with an ongoing war as well. By 1943, the year I finished school, both the wizarding and the Muggle world were raging in parallel and interrelated wars.

"I'm sure you studied it all in Professor Binns' classes, so I won't bother you with this aspect of my life. Suffice it to say it was chaotic. Purity of blood was an issue for both Muggles and magical, and when you're one of the children of Belvina and Herbert Burke, you can't help but get caught in the middle."

Just barely raising her eyebrows in surprise, Hermione realized now that she recognized the symbols in the lady's jewels. It was the same she had seen over a decade before when she first visited number 12, Grimmauld Place. She also recognized the names from the Black Family Tree. This witch was the granddaughter of Hogwarts Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. She was a direct cousin of Sirius's grandfather. Both grandfathers, actually.

"It was then that it all ended," Mrs. Yaxley continued. "Or maybe I should say it's when it started. I'm not sure. Something ends, and something else begins, isn't it true? As I was saying, once I was out of Hogwarts, life finally seemed to catch me, and quite unexpectedly so. I had to choose. But really there only seemed to be one answer for me, don't you think so? I would follow the ways of my family. I believe you know what I meant with that."

"Not unless we're thinking of very different families," Hermione murmured in reply.

"Of course," she said calmly. "And by doing so I made possibly the ultimate decision in my life. Oh I never really had anything to do in the ongoing war, I was only expected to be the pureblood society witch, conveniently detached from the major decisions and concentrating only in her family. Even that at times was too much.

"But there had been a boy. A most unusual case, I must say. We hated each other for so long in our years at Hogwarts. And yet, somehow, we fell in love. Once we were out of school, he asked me to marry him. I loved him deeply, but it would never work. It would have been a disaster. I was Adhara Burke, a pureblood and Slytherin in every way. He was Roger Michaels, a sweet boy in Gryffindor. A mudblood." She looked up sharply at that. "That's what my family would call him."

Hermione saw her pale blue eyes sparkle with emotion, as she seemed to remember those days. There was sadness, and amazement, regret, and resignation. Happiness and love.

"It wasn't meant to be. I had to say no." She continued quietly, eyes once more darting down towards her wringing hands. She rested them neatly over her lap after a moment. "It was the biggest mistake I've ever made."

They fell silent, for at the moment neither knew what to say. Both women were immersed in their own private thoughts, a series of might-have-been's, reality and fantasy mixing up, undistinguished, one part of the other. Their lives couldn't have been more different as individuals, and yet they had managed to experience so many similar things.

"Life went on," Adhara Yaxley said. "I had a nice pureblood marriage arranged, of course. I really was rather fortunate, for Nigel was respectful and I never lacked anything. We had our children and life went on." The pain turned into something wistful, like wishful thinking. "I often wondered what would have happened if I had the courage to break free from my family. I still do. I'll never really forget it, I think.

"Well. My mother died in 1962." The abrupt change of subject confused Hermione, but she remained listening in silence. "My father had died some five years before. My brother Preston inherited the property and we sorted through their things, naturally. And then about a month ago Preston also passed away. His wife had already died some ten years ago, and his sons died in the war. I was left to sort through his things, as my other brother is also gone.

"It was the last thing I ever expected to find, and yet among some of the things he had kept from my mother, I found old letters. They were from Roger, to me, and I had never even seen them. He asked why had I never answered any of his letters anymore, and why had I stopped loving him, that it was all he needed to know to move on. There was one after the announcement of my engagement to Nigel that asked if it was truly what I wanted, that he'd respect my wishes, but if I wanted to, I knew where to find him. He said he still loved me and we could run away from all of this, to live together someplace else." A lone tear escaped and rolled down her face at this. "He never got an answer to that. He died in the war."

They stared at each other. Whether it had been in the war with Grindelwald, the first or the second with Voldemort, Hermione couldn't say, but she knew it didn't really matter. The man she loved had died.

"It was foolish." Mrs. Yaxley continued. "I was saddened, thinking there was no one else left for me in this life, that I should just end it. And yet, after brewing and taking all those potions, I couldn't help but keep thinking that he wouldn't want that. It was wrong, and I shouldn't do it." She paused, taking a deep breath in. "And so I came here."

Hermione didn't manage an answer to that, for barely a couple of seconds after Mrs. Yaxley had finished her confession of sorts, Diane walked in briskly into the room with a long piece of parchment in hands.

"I'm sorry for taking so long, Healer Granger." The girl said, pausing next to the bed. "Apparently, Healer Carmichael forgot to mention the CEI had happened in our own lab analysis room. But don't worry, everything is sorted out now, everyone was attended to, and the major incident was that it just look longer to get the results for analysis. Here it is."

Taking the results she already knew, Hermione noticed the atmosphere in the room had changed once more. Her patient was once again holding herself high, irradiating confidence verging on arrogance. No longer she was looking at a woman heartbroken with the loss of the love of her life. She was again the pureblood society witch she was supposed to be. Cold, self-righteous and detached. And perhaps a bit irritated with the delay.

"Hum, yes," Hermione murmured glancing down at the parchment in hands. "Well, just as we thought." She declared, looking at the elderly witch. "I will give you the correct antidote and something to appease your stomach. All these potions shouldn't be too good on that. I will get you a dreamless sleep potion as well, and I suggest you talk to your house-elves and make sure not to mix potion and cooking ingredients in the future. Next time you might not be so lucky, Mrs. Yaxley."

The quiet sparkling in the pale blue eyes was all she got as an understanding sign. Nodding her head briefly, her patient said, "I will do that. I suppose it really was my fault, I should be more careful when brewing potions. Nonetheless, my elves will be more attentive from now on."

"All right," Hermione nodded and smiled slightly. "Trainee Healer Malone will provide you with all the potions you need." She continued, scribbling rapidly in a fresh piece of parchment, the old one surreptitiously pocketed inside her robes. "And anything more, you should come back here and ask for me. If I'm not attending, the receptionist Ms. Oliver will know how to reach me." She handed Diane the new order and stood up.

"Thank you, Healer Granger," her patient said, her voice as casual as you would have it, but her eyes sparkling with emotion. "I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"Any time, Mrs. Yaxley. That's what we're here for." And that said, Hermione Granger turned around and walked out of the room.

She quickly gathered her bag and cloak in the lounge and Apparated back home before any more emergency cases could come her way. She did leave a message to be given to Graham Pritchard though. Next time he was late, she'd make sure to report him to Chief Carrington. Truth be told, she'd cover his back for as much as she needed to. She just didn't want him thinking he could turn this into a habit.

"I'm home," she declared as she materialized with a soft pop in the entrance hall of her house. With a wave of her wand, she sent her cloak and bag to her room, as she directed herself towards the kitchen. After all, she wouldn't expect dinner to be ready just because she was late. She knew her husband never ventured into the culinary domains.

As she passed the dining room, however, she found a surprise waiting for her. The dinner table was already set for two, the china and silverware neatly disposed on top of the linen tablecloth along with sparkling silver goblets. There was even a blue crystal vase with a single and perfect white lily in it.

"Oh my…" The exclamation claiming for some deity from above died in her lips as she took it all in. It was indeed beautiful, and quite the display. She was about to wonder aloud once more when strong arms circled her from behind quite unexpectedly.

"I was wondering when you'd get here," said a husky voice in her ear that made shivers run down her spine. "Hi." Her husband said briefly, turning her around to he could greet her properly. She happily obliged, snaking her arms around his back and running her hand through his silky hair as they kissed passionately.

"Well, hello there." She said with a candid smile. "I was just thinking of you."

"I'm glad then, because I don't really like when you think of someone else," he replied with a roguish grin.

"Git," she said, good-naturedly hitting him in the arm, though not strong enough so he'd complain. "Really. I had a last minute patient, thanks to Pritchard and his wretched unpunctuality. She had me thinking, and I could see this whole life if things between us had turned out differently. It was horrible, quite frankly."

"That does sound awful," he agreed, frowning slightly. "Anyone I know?"

"Probably, but I can't tell you anyway. Healer-patient confidentiality," she smirked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Spoil-sport," he said with a half-hearted glare, even as he still kept her tight in his arms.

"Don't be a nag. Now, what is all this?" She questioned, gesturing with one hand to the assembled table. "Did you make the house-elves go through all of this just to impress me?"

"Hermione, I'm appalled that you'd think such things of me!" He exclaimed mockingly, the sarcasm undertone more than blatant to her ears. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as he then turned to grin wickedly at her. "Actually, I cooked it myself."

"You cooked?" She questioned, scepticism noticeable in her voice.

"There's no need to sound so surprised," he replied, slighting frowning his eyebrows. "Oh all right, so it is quite uncharacteristic of me to cook you dinner. But I took part of the afternoon off and wanted to treat you something special. If you must now, Potter helped me with the most part."

"You and Harry cooked this?" She questioned, even more sceptical than before. "You're telling me that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy spent an afternoon in my kitchen and didn't kill each other or blow up the house?"

"Well yes, if we manage to solve cases together at the Aurors every now and then, I was thinking it'd be obvious we're capable of staying in the same room without it bursting into flames," he said, rolling his grey eyes sarcastically.

"Okay, but solving cases is one thing. Cooking dinner is another altogether," Hermione insisted.

"Will you stop questioning it already so we can sit down and have dinner? Merlin, that's the last time I'm treating you with a surprise," he said, slightly irritably, walking her to her chair.

"All right, I'm sorry," she said with a smile, for she knew he wasn't irritated. He was more embarrassed at her incredulity, in reality. "This is all really very lovely. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled at her.

"And I do love your surprises." She added with an impish grin.

"Duly noted," he replied, winking at her, and turning around to take his seat.

"And Draco," she said, grabbing his hand and making him stop as she stood up in front of him once again. "Did I tell you that I love you?"

"No, not today, I don't think you did," he said as impassively as he could manage.

"Well, I do," she said, stepping closer up to him. "I love you, Draco. And I can't imagine living my life with any other person but you. For everything we've been through, I'm glad we had the courage and found the strength to be together."

"You're being awfully sentimental today," he commented, as he put his arms around her once more, looking bemusedly at her. "I guess that patient of yours, whoever that was, really had an effect on you."

"She did." Hermione nodded. "I don't think I'll ever forget her, because she reminded me of a life that would be horrible to live. Without you."

"Hmm." He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, looking down at her with an unreadable expression. "Well, I don't think I could ever live without you either. You would haunt my every dream and waking moment, because you, my darling, is unforgettable. And I love you, Hermione. I know I don't say if often, but I do."

"I know," she smiled gently up at him.

They kissed once more, a gentle kiss full of promise and the future. She knew she really didn't need him telling every day of his love for her, because she could feel in his every move, every kiss, every touch, even every snide comment or bad joke he made. It was a love that didn't need words. It was there, it was theirs, and they were glad to be living it.

* * *

A.N.: My first Draco/Hermione piece! Man, I really am expanding my list of couples portrayed in stories. There's actually really no connection to the song "Unforgettable" from Nat King Cole and Natalie Cole, although it sort of fits.

About Hermione not changing her last name to Malfoy. That was deliberate. I was going to put an explanation about how she started Healing School before she was married, but decided to cut it. The bottom line is, in her professional life she is still Hermione Granger, because she wants to always remember her Muggle heritage. That's personally how I view Hermione, she wouldn't want anyone thinking she married anyone so she could have deferential treatment. I'm not sure Draco would actually be okay with it, I'd expect those two to argue about it every now and then. Of course, in their social circles she is still Mrs. Draco Malfoy. But there you have it.

Anyway. Thank you for reading. I'm glad to be of service. And I'd greatly love to know your opinion!


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